In one of these long, sleepless poetic nights he exclaimed: "If it is true what the abbot of the monastery told me, that there is a chance that these points of lights are worlds; if it true that in this globe of nacre that spins above the clouds people live, how beautiful women there must be in these lightful regions, and I will not be able to see them and love them!...
How might be their beauty?...
How their love? ....
Manrique was not mad enough that the boys of the streets would have followed him, but mad enough that he talked to himself gesticulating and this is where it starts.